


Liminal Twilight

by transcryptidone



Category: Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom, Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), The Path (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mpreg, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Cal Roberts, Omega Galen Erso, Omega/Omega Relationship, Past Rape/Non-con, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-18 19:48:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29738985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transcryptidone/pseuds/transcryptidone
Summary: Without the Movement, without a job, and without a home to call his own, what Caldoeshave is a baby growing in his belly. In all that has changed, there seem to be only two things that have stayed the same: he's unmated and at the mercy of Alphas.But just when Cal might feel farthest from the Light, he meets another Omega who asks him a simple question with a complicated answer:Who else should protect our kind, if not us?
Relationships: Galen Erso/Cal Roberts
Comments: 6
Kudos: 4





	Liminal Twilight

When Cal arrived in New York City, the first thing he realized was that he’d never been anywhere with so many lights but so little _Light_ to be found. Signs flashed in neon brighter and brighter to compete with each other and, through their competition for attention, they distracted and deflected from the Truth like the shadows cast on a cave wall. It was the only reality the prisoners knew just as it was the only reality the citizens of New York City seemed to know. As car after car drove by, he’d found it hard to believe either the shadow cast or the vehicles themselves had any Truth to them.  
  
Cal has had that first impression confirmed for him every day that he’s lived in the city. He’s reminded of it now as he stands in a grand hall lit with the kind of light that’s flattering in its softness in order to compliment everyone here who is used to being pandered to. He stands among them but not _with_ them. They raise their champagne flutes, and his is filled with water. They’ll wear their expensive suits and dresses once and then never again, so easily purchased and forgotten. Cal has worn this same suit to three of these events Harold dragged him to already. And Cal didn’t even buy it.  
  
“You were awesome,” Harold says as he holds up his glass. Cal eyes the swirl of liquid in it, and marks a tally in his mind of how many drinks Harold’s had so far tonight. Last time he’d broken his abstinence, they decided to try something different, a new set of rules.  
  
Cal clink his glass lightly against Harold’s and insists, “ _You_ were awesome.”  
  
_“Cheers,”_ Harold’s two friends – _Justin_ and _Alex_ – say together as they hold up theirs too. After all the pomp and circumstance is done, they move on to showboating.  
  
“My agent’s got me opening up big and tall men’s clothing stores,” Justin says. “It’s Goddamn _humiliating_. I need to get into that gym thing, bro. It’s just way classier.”  
  
_Classier_. Harold and his friends are only at this stiff, buttoned-up affair to try to appear _classier_. Unfortunately, Harold’s friends are Alphas just as big and burly as Harold, and with muscles flexed in overdone displays of might and power. They stand out too much as they loom over others who decide to display their prospects with the finer things in life. They won’t need muscles and brute strength to provide. They have money and therefore _other people_ to deal with that.  
  
“It’s just the beginning,” Harold says, looking towards Cal as he usually does with his eyes searching for reassurance and approval. At least he looks away quickly. “We’re opening all these branches and I get a percent just for letting them use my name.”  
  
Harold holds up his hands to show off the huge hunks of gold and jewels molded in a mockery of a _ring_.   
  
“You broke out the rings?” Alex says. His smile is big and white, but with teeth fairly _blunted,_ the way Alphas’ are. Cal has to run his tongue more carefully across his own teeth or else risk drawing blood.  
  
Harold turns his hands to admire his rings for himself – something he never gets enough of – but a more morose look crosses his face. “Thanks to Cal, here, I lost enough weight in my fingers,” Harold says with a sigh, “I can finally get the damn things on again.”  
  
Another server makes another round with another set of glasses. As Cal’s eyes trail around the room, he sees the many dressed in their uniforms making circles like an endless cycle. Justin and Alex tip back their heads to empty their glasses so that they can go ahead and get new ones.  
  
Thankfully, Harold doesn’t rush the drink he has and waves off the server as he says, “I’m gonna pass.”  
  
Cal can’t drink even though he wants to, and the server knows it, so she just passes him by.  
  
Harold’s friend scoffs before he takes another _glug_ that clears half the glass. He scrunches his brow and frowns as he swallows and looks at Cal. The gesture of his finger is pointed and brash as he accuses, “You won’t let that man have another drink?”  
  
Cal hesitates. He can’t say too much, can’t say too little. He’s had plenty of practice with that, sure, but Harold’s reactions have introduced what might be best described as _hostile unpredictability_. “Well–” he starts, even though still only has half of what he’s going to say figured out.  
  
“My trainer lets me drink as much tequila as I like, as long as it’s got no sugar in it,” Justin interrupts. “It’s the sugar that kills you.”  
  
“I’m not a trainer,” Cal says. He clears his throat as it threatens to close up. He does his best to steady his voice from the scraping of the cough, but still stumbles on his words. “I’m, uh, I’m a wellness consultant.”  
  
Alex’s expression is twisted with incredulousness, contorting his mouth, eyes, and the turn of his neck. “What the fuck is that?”  
  
Cal’s chuckle comes out more nervous than he’d like when a soft spot is hit. Alex’s words strike direct and harsh against the space in Cal’s chest that aches with absence and a lack of _Truth_. He’s been carrying that ache around since the compound started to disappear in the distance. It has only gotten stronger as he’s gotten farther away from what, for so long, felt like his _purpose_. He’d made up the term _wellness consultant_ because he couldn’t say _10R, upper rung,_ or even _guide_ and _wellness consultant_ sounded better than _beck-and-call Omega_ or _alcoholic salesman_.  
  
“I think he puts crystals up his ass,” Alex jokes, nudging Justin with his elbow, and Cal laughs to hide how he flinches. Alex either doesn’t see it or ignores it, he just overlooks Cal and directs his skepticism towards Harold as he questions, “You hired yourself an Omega to set you straight? You couldn’t manage to catch one on your own? I know your last one left you and took the twins, but it’s not _that_ hard to win an Omega’s eye.”  
  
“Come on, guys,” Harold starts. When he looks at Cal wearily, it could either be concern for Cal or concern for himself – _probably himself_. Cal has long lost anyone who might show more than a modicum of concern for him.  
  
“Look, I’ll be right back,” Cal says, excusing himself as his hands tremble slightly and his throat goes from closing up to threatening to rebel. He swallows and it burns, which only seems to send his heart rate skyrocketing. He sets his half-empty glass on one of the trays circling by and turns back towards Harold. “Okay?” he asks, counting on the answer.  
  
Harold’s eyes go wide with more concern – _definitely for himself, then_. “Not too long,” he urges as he lays a hand on Cal’s forearm.  
  
“I know,” Cal says as he tries not to jerk his arm away. He shakes his head to clear how his vision might blur with the start of tears. He knows his smile must look odd and _not right_. “I’ll be right back.”  
  
Cal excuses himself through the crowd. He presses his hand against his middle as he ducks between identically, _enthusiastically_ adorned Alphas. Their eyes rake against his skin and his suit feels far too _tight_. They look at him, they _see_ him, they have him within arm’s reach and all he can do is _push through_.   
  
When he pushes open the door to the Omega restroom, it nearly knocks against an Omega woman on her way out. Cal ducks his head in apology. He walks past the sinks, urinals, and stalls. Tucked away in the back corner is a certain room, the only thing that makes there have to be such a thing as separate Alpha and Omega bathrooms. The room is closed off from ceiling to floor, perfectly private and perfectly contained.  
  
He slams the door behind him and when the latch clicks, he can finally _breathe_. He gasps out air and even with the freedom, it still stutters on the way out. This little room is as soundproof as it can be so he doesn’t have to feel too ashamed of the staccato little whimpers that pull themselves from his throat.  
  
His fingers fumble as he undoes the top button of his shirt to give himself more air, and then continue on to unbutton the rest of his shirt as well. His sigh is tinged with more relief once the fabric no longer restricts his skin. His hand smooths from the sweat-sticky skin of his heaving chest down to the tightening, swelling skin stretching itself across his belly. Cal closes his eyes, tips his chin towards the ceiling, and tries to focus on nothing other than the feeling of his hand against his belly.   
  
It doesn’t seem any bigger than when he’d donned the shirt earlier that night. He smooths from top to bottom and from one side to the other. His fingers drag against his skin and it raises goosebumps in their wake. His warmth is an anxious one, but he always feels warm when his palm molds itself to the curve. No matter what _anyone_ tries to tell him, Cal knows that the warmth he feels is pure _Light_.  
  
Cal’s breaths still come out in pants as his left shoulder hits the wall and he turns to press his back against it instead. The movement has him knocking his right shoulder against the rounded plastic edge of the container hung on the wall. This dispenser is the true reason for the existence of this little room; it dispenses emergency and incredibly _temporary_ heat suppressors. But he didn’t come here for that. Maybe if he’d had some of that _before,_ he wouldn’t be in the situation he’s in.  
  
He jerks back and slams his fist against the side his shoulder collided with. The plastic does its best to absorb the blow. This room is meant to be as safe as can be for an Omega in a surprise heat until the emergency supply can offer a slight reprieve. It’s meant for the frenzy of an Omega whose passion has them wanting to touch, rub, claw, and bite. It’s not meant for an already pregnant Omega who just wants to _fight_.  
  
The plastic cracks and cuts against Cal’s knuckles and he hisses as blood wells. He would lick at the blood to stay the flow but as hygienic as they might try to keep this little stall, any germ that might make Cal sick is an unwelcome one. The sight of the blood takes the wind out of him anyhow. His fingers become clumsy with exhaustion rather than anger or anxiety, but he has to take extra care to not stain the clothes Harold gave him. He still has to go back out there after all.  
  
Cal unlocks the door and walks out as he closes his eyes and takes one last calming breath. When he opens his eyes again, there’s an Omega man leaning against the wall by the sinks. His arms are crossed against his chest and one ankle is crossed over the other. He seems to have no interest in washing his hands or any need to dry them. He simply stands there are watches as Cal goes through the motions.  
  
Cal tries to hold his hands and pivot them in such a way that the man might not see any blood and he tries to bury his hiss and grimace in the bite of his teeth against his lip. He realizes too late that the taste of metallic means his teeth have drawn beads of blood too.  
  
The man steps away from the wall. His movements are precise, but not cold. His head is held high and his shoulders are rolled back in good posture, but his hands are held with a sense of knowledge and awareness, _dexterity_. He knows exactly what he’s doing as he pulls a towel from a carefully folded pile and holds it out on open palms.   
  
“Are you okay?” the man asks, his voice resonant – not a purr, but not unlike one.   
  
Cal’s smile is tight and tense, he knows it, but it’s the best he can do. “I’m fine,” he says and in some ways, it doesn’t feel like he’s failed to tell the Truth. He might never have known what that shred of Truth feels like when he’s never been able to be honest with his answer to that question.  
  
The man hums and lifts his hands to remind Cal that they’re held out for him, but he doesn’t force Cal’s hands to enclose themselves. “I’ve already seen the blood,” he says. “You don’t have to hide it.”  
  
Cal wants to curl his hands away, wants to hold them close to his chest and collapse inward. He wants to go back into the little room with its enclosed space and imagine flowers painted on the walls. But he’s not a child anymore, so he makes himself extend his hands outward when he’d rather not and he lets his hands rest against a white towel, bloody knuckles and all.  
  
“I also saw you,” the man says as he carefully, thoughtfully pats Cal’s hands dry. He squeezes his hands ever so slightly and keeps on gently _holding_ as he looks at Cal and continues, “With the Alphas.”  
  
“My boss and his friends,” Cal says as he licks along the remnants of blood at his lip. He tries not to worry at the tender skin any more than that. “I’m a wellness consultant.”  
  
The man hums and releases his hold on Cal’s hands to instead give the last drags of the soft towel across his skin. “As a wellness consultant,” he says, thoughtfully, almost musing, “how would you assess your own wellness?”  
  
There are bright red stains on the fancy towel and the metallic taste won’t leave his tongue. “Better than it could have been,” Cal states.  
  
The man sets aside the towel like it’s nothing. It goes where other used towels go when they’ve been rendered untidy and discarded. Without something to distract their hands and their attention, Cal feels the way the man’s gaze falls on him.  
  
“And if it were the best it could be?” the man asks.  
  
Cal rolls his neck against the tension that jolts through it. “Not possible.”  
  
Cal can take care of himself except in the ways Harold can’t, which happens to align terribly perfectly with the ways Harold can and can’t take care of himself. Harold has money and the fortitude of a home all his own, which is what Cal _doesn’t_ have. Cal has his wits about him and the fortitude of knowing he’ll survive because he _has to._ Meanwhile, Harold hardly ever seems to be able to stand up on his own. Unfortunately, what a baby needs most is a roof over their head and his ability to give a rousing speech won’t convince a baby to stop crying.  
  
The man hums again and as he inhales, Cal knows what the man can find in his scent and how his shirt clings too tight. He’ll have to see if Harold notices enough to buy him another one or if he’ll have to ask for it.  
  
“And if it were what you wanted for your child?” the man continues.  
  
Cal pulls in a harsh breath through his nose and can almost catch his own scent – pregnant, unbonded, _vulnerable_ Omega. The man’s scent holds the classic notes of an Omega and a bond that’s mostly faded. The man’s buttoned collar and perfectly knotted tie might hide away the remains of a scarred bite on his neck.  
  
Cal considers what he’d wanted for himself and what he’d wanted for his growing baby. He’d thought he’d be mated long ago. He thought he’d be climbing the Ladder – in more ways than one. He thought his baby was conceived in Light, would be born in Light, bathed in it, and blessed.  
  
“Not possible either,” Cal says and he feels the Damage rattle him down to his foundations and send a wobble through his knees.  
  
“Why not?” the man asks carefully, as if he thinks something too loud or too firm might have Cal crumbling.  
  
Cal thinks of the _Embrace_. Cal knew what that Embrace meant, what it would mean to hand his newborn baby over to _Eddie_ and have _Eddie_ be declared the baby’s ultimate father. He remembers standing by as many Embraces were performed. He was there when the practice began.  
  
“I couldn’t do what was asked of me,” Cal says. He shakes his head to shake away the memories. “I strayed from my path.”  
  
The man holds his hands out and open again and reaches out for Cal’s without the pretense of a towel. “Don’t let people who don’t matter decide your worth,” he says as he curls his hands around Cal’s, cupping both of them together so that they’re held like the pearls inside an oyster shell, _treasured_. “Don’t go back to those Alphas.”  
  
Cal’s laugh is bitter and not nearly so refined. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”  
  
The man waits for a moment, silent. Cal adverts his eyes in shame, he knows what must be crossing the stranger’s mind. An unbonded, pregnant omega like himself, at the mercy of a pack of Alphas, with nowhere to go, nowhere to run. When he lifts his gaze again, he expects to find judgment in the Omega’s eyes; instead, he finds compassion.   
  
“I have a place for you,” the man says like a promise.  
  
When he steps closer, Cal can look nowhere else but his eyes. “I don’t know you,” he tries to argue, but it comes out as soft as a murmur.   
  
The man looks at him with eyes that seem softened by time, hardship, and kindness. His face is a combination of the peaks of prominent cheekbones and the plushness of slightly puckered lips. “Omegas are meant to take care of each other. Who else should protect our kind, if not us?” he declares with _confidence_. “We’re meant to make sure no one is left on their own. I know this too well; I’ve been on my own far too long. Haven’t you?”  
  
Cal nods and feels his lips wobble this time as tears build at his lashes again. His attempts to contain his sob contort his face in what he knows is a rather unflattering grimace. He’s seen himself cry in the mirror before and he knows it’s not his prettiest sight.  
  
The man doesn’t flinch away, doesn’t shift his feet, his hands, or even seem to _breathe_ too hard. He whispers his encouragement, “What is your name?”  
  
“Cal,” he says, the confession coming out watery and soaked with more tears. “Cal Roberts.”  
  
“Hello, Cal Roberts,” the man greets. “My name is Galen Erso and I’m so glad to have met you.”

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you to [Ary](https://twitter.com/hannigramteacup) for creating this idea with me and for giving me feedback and editing!


End file.
